


heartbeats and bed creaks are the sounds of the dawn

by hereticpop



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/pseuds/hereticpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shingo wasn’t going home because Shingo was twenty, drunk and he wanted to kiss Kimura’s face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heartbeats and bed creaks are the sounds of the dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lalalee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lalalee).



It’s past 5 a.m.

Kimura isn’t sure why he isn’t asleep. There’s a weird heat in the room, it floats like a grainy radioactive haze burning his skin, it would engulf him from knees to the topmost of his head if he stood up. He is lying on the unmade bed, which dips somewhere at his elbow around Shingo. Shingo takes up most of the space, limbs scattered as if they were separate items, t-shirt up across his chest left just like it rolled up when Kimura was wrestling with him trying to make him get up and go home. Shingo wasn’t going home because Shingo was twenty, drunk and he wanted to kiss Kimura’s face.

“I don’t kiss drunk people,” Kimura said, which was true at least as long as he wasn’t drunk himself (something which Nakai and him will never talk about ever). “Come back when you’re sober.”

“Alright,” Shingo said and didn’t go.

The world is greying outside, the room filled with the no colour of early morning that makes Kimura see everything only in shades of different depth. It strikes him how quiet Shingo’s sleep is, the calm breathing sounds so natural that it’s easy to filter it out, just an unconscious trace at the back of his mind, like something soft and nice. Now, something soft and nice he could use, he isn’t very comfortable like this. His thoughts liquidise and spill, and sink into the mattress, even when he closes his eyes there’s a lining of light between his eyelids; it’s kind of silver...

Shingo is blinking at him when he opens his eyes.

“Hello,” Kimura mumbles, stirs, wraps his arms around himself, lets go when it’s too hot.

Shingo blinks. There’s not many centimetres between their faces.

“Your nose looks kinda funny up close,” Shingo says and oh god what a raspy, trashed voice he has.

It isn’t something Kimura wants to hear first thing in the morning. Or any other time.

“Well, you don’t look too dashing yourself right now.”

They stay in this viscous half-sleep for a while before Shingo starts fidgeting.

“Kimura-kun. I’m sober now.” It could be a lie.

“Huh?” It’s the way Shingo is looking at him with so much intent that makes Kimura remember. He still thinks it’s just some idea that hatched in Shingo’s brain like millions of them do, a joke that only Shingo gets, but he doesn’t mind either way. He pushes hair out of his face, “go on then.”

Shingo leans in awkwardly, keeping his hands down and away from Kimura, he pauses three times to take a good look at Kimura’s face before their lips touch. That’s where he freezes. Kimura has his eyes open and he waits, but nothing else happens. The flutter of Shingo’s eyelashes against his skin feels more distinct than his mouth.

“Oh come on,” he doesn’t break away, speaking _into_ Shingo like that is quite nice, “you can do better.”

So Shingo does. His lips press, part, move and gain impudence, and Kimura kisses back. Kid is intense, he has to give him that, and suddenly he wonders if Shingo has used the same trick on many, many girls and if he just fell for it like all of them, for the puppy face, feigned innocence, the honesty of his _I want to kiss you_ , but even if, there’s still something pure about it that makes Kimura not really care. He can feel the taste of his own ashtray mouth so he keeps his tongue to himself, it’s lucky in a way that they both have bad breath at this point, and they’re both sweaty and sleep-swollen. Shingo is still tilting his head in an awkward position, so Kimura pulls him closer and he lets his hands wander, unconsciously straightening Shingo’s t-shirt. Shingo places light kisses on Kimura’s face, Kimura doesn’t move and thinks he could fall asleep like this, blissful.

The room is still morning greyish but brighter, the shadows left mostly in the corners of eyes, from where they will need to be washed out, but that’s later, when they choose to get up and leave this sweet little bubble. For now it seems that if they share their glowing warmness then it’s not so unbearable and if they turn their faces towards each other, the sunlight can’t invade under their eyelids. Kimura still strokes Shingo’s hip around the hem of his t-shirt.

“Kimura-kun?”

“What?”

“Can we take our pants off?”

They can.

Bare legs tangle, Shingo offers a pillow that Kimura never noticed he had hogged, the pillow is small and their faces need to be very close and they end up kissing again.

“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead,” Kimura whispers.

The curved upturn of Shingo’s devil lips says that Shingo will tell everyone. Everyone.


End file.
